What's all this about Chicken?
by Lady Draco
Summary: Scully gets drunk and explores her apartment :)


What's all this about chicken? by LadyDraco

Disclaimer: Don't own X-Files. Chris Carter has the privelage. Mulder n Scully aren't mine. The chicken is.

Rating: PG

Summary: Scully gets drunk

Note: Madness. This fic is madness!

Holding the groceries in one hand, I slammed the door to my apartment shut  
with my foot. I made my way to the kitchen and began to unload everything  
and put it into their respective areas. After that I cooked myself some  
dinner and made my way to the lounge where I promptly sat down and switched  
on the TV.

News.  
Click.  
Chick flick.  
Click.  
Documentary on how snails mate.  
Click.  
Click.  
Click.

Nothing was on.

Why is it when you have a night off, you've got food in front of you, your  
partner is off visiting his mother, there is nothing on the TV. I sighed  
wearily and sunk deeply into the cushioning of my lounge. Finishing the last  
bit of my rice, vegetables and chicken dinner, I went to the kitchen and put  
the plate into the sink. I'll wash it later, I thought, as I got a bottle of  
red wine out of the wine rack. After searching uselessly for ten minutes, I  
found the corkscrew down the side of my couch. It was only then, after I had  
opened the bottle of wine, poured myself a glass, switched on the stereo for  
some soothing tunes by Kate Bush that I resat myself down on the couch.

I glanced at the clock. 21:34. Hmm, I hummed to myself. Twenty-six minutes  
till party time.

I guess it was a blessing that Mulder was away visiting his mother. He would  
call me at about 21:45 (which is in eleven minutes, I reminded myself) to check  
up on me, we'll talk for about fifteen minutes and then I'll do what I gotta  
do at 2200 hours.

I watched the clock. I tended to do that when I knew Mulder was going to  
ring. It was as if my staring at the clock would spark something in his head  
and then he would call me.

21:44.

"One minute to go", I said aloud, as I refilled my glass of wine.

Too bad my clock is a digital one otherwise I could have counted down the  
seconds.

And as the clock flashed 21:45 for the first time that day, the shrill of my  
mobile screeched to my right. I tried to force myself to yawn so Mulder would  
think I was tired but for some reason it wasn't happening.

The phone kept shrilling.

As I walked towards it, I did the yawning thing again. Nothing. I was losing  
my knack. I picked up the phone, closed my eyes and pressed the answer button.

"RAWHOOWOWHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Gee, Scully. That's a mighty big roar you got going there!"

My surprise yawn, which surprised me as well for that matter, made me grin.  
Yeh heh heeeehhhh, I cheered myself silently. I pressed the phone close to my  
mouth as I answered.

"Zit Muldeh", I mumbled rather incoherently into the phone. I was a master of  
this. Except for the days when he sounded panicked and frantic, I usually got  
him off the phone within one minute. That's the average. There have been  
occasions when the conversation has lasted for about thirty seconds but that was  
due to me be actually asleep and pressing the hang up button accidentally. Then,  
about fifteen minutes later, my apartment door was blown of its hinges. Thankfully,  
that only happened twice.

"Awww, Sculls. You sleeping?"

He can be dense sometimes.

"Zit soun' like, Mulf".

I heard him chuckle. I was suppressing my own.

"Okay, okay, Sculls. I'll go. Just checking up on ya".

"Fanks, 'der. Go now. Scuh go sleepies. Beddies. Bye Byes".

And before he could respond, my finger had clicked the hang-up button and I was  
giving myself high-fives. My eyes immediately traveled to the digital clock. It  
still said 21:45. Bollocks, I exclaimed in my head. I ran full pelt towards the  
kitchen where my watch was. I snatched it up and looked at.

And in my best callback alarm voice I said:

"At the third stroke it will be nine forty-five and twenty one seconds ... BEEP  
BEEP BEEP!"

Grinning cheerfully to myself in the reflection of the microwave, I went to pour  
another glass of wine. What the hell, the voice cheerfully in my head said, I'll  
just be a bum and drink from the bottle. Backing the bottle, I swallowed at least  
two massive gulps before my eyes began to water and the mellow taste of the wine  
swilled around in my stomach. I made myself shake and watched as the room began  
to tilt to the left slightly. Then I realised that my head was turned slightly to  
the left. Figuring that this was a different perspective to seeing things, I left  
it there and walked with bent neck back to the couch.

I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes.

Another gulp.

I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes.

Another gulp.

I glanced at the clock again. 21:49. Eleven minutes.

By then I was getting severely frustrated and tipsy. And this is all in the matter  
of one minute. Or sixty seconds. Or 6000 milliseconds. I think that's right. I  
wouldn't know. My brain is fuzzy.

I took another gulp.

The room was looking oddly blurry. It was if I was submerged in a pool of water  
and my eyes were open. I waved one of my hands in front of my face. It looked  
strange and lacking detail. I studied it for a moment. It looked like a piece of uncooked  
chicken. I waved it again, giggling to myself.

"Bwakkkeety BWAKKKKKK!" I screeched aloud. After a moment, I spun around looking  
for the chicken. I stood up, taking a deep gulp of the wine, and made my way to the  
kitchen. Now, from where I was standing, on a normal day it was a direct route with  
no obstacles to the kitchen. It took me approximately three point one five seconds  
to get there. And that's if I was walking. This time, however, I managed to  
circumnavigate around the entire room. I walked past the couch. Correction. Stumbled  
past the couch, walked rather wobbly towards the stereo, took a sudden right which  
resulted in me smashing my face into the bookshelf with all my books, hung another  
right and rammed my knees into the side of my lounge, decided that it would be rather  
interesting to climb over it commando style WHILST holding the bottle of wine (Which  
I didn't spill once), got to the end of the lounge and took a leap, turned to the left  
and ran into the dining table and then finally arrived at my destination. The hall  
cupboard.

I stared at it momentarily whilst trying to regain my balance.

"Hawoh, cubbie! I ith Scuzza and you is my cubbah!"

I stared at the cupboard waiting for a response. It stared back at me blankly. I  
squinted my eyes at it. It stared back at me blankly. After a few moments, I got  
bored and raised an eyebrow. It stared back at me blankly. I held my bottle of wine  
out to it, waiting for it to grab it. It stared back at me blankly. I sighed and  
turned away. I had walked but a few steps when I spun around. I suppose I was  
expecting to catch it doing something like pulling its tongue at me or something  
really immature like that. It stared back at me blankly.

Taking a skull of my wine, I zigzagged back to my lounge. I flopped back on it  
and sank deep into the cushion. At this point I was drunk. Very drunk. The bottle  
hung loosely from my hand over the side of the lounge. My legs were sprawled in  
both directions and my neck was still in its left tilt. On a normal day, there  
is no way in hell that I would be able to relax. But my inebriation on this night  
has allowed me.

THE CLOCK!

The thought sprung into my head like a spring. I was facing the back of the couch  
so the clock wasn't in my vision. Not to say that my vision was anything of use to  
me at this point in time. I tried to turn over but my head seemed to be a magnet  
attached to a piece of metal. I managed to turn my body but my head was still stuck  
to the couch and facing the back of it.

"Fahhhhhhhhh!"

My attempt to swear amused me. I broke down into drunken giggles. About thirty  
seconds later my body began to register a slight pain in my neck. I realised that  
my neck was still in it's absurd position. Raising two heavy arms, I grasped my  
head with my hands. Slowly but surely I managed to twist my head so that it was  
facing the clock.

The clock was a funny thing when you're drunk. I could make out the general  
shape of it against the peach background. The display was another thing. It looked  
to me like a big red blur. The kind of blur you'd see if you strained your eyes. Or,  
like I was experiencing, when you are drunk. I must have looked a sight, straining my  
eyes, leaning forward and that backwards, trying to focus. The blur was still there.

I farted.

What a relieving thing a fart can be. Whoops! Sorry ... back to the clock.

Finally realising that I couldn't see from the distance, I rolled myself off the  
couch. Straight onto my now empty bottle of wine. There was no pain just a dull  
throb. That'll probably hurt tomorrow, I thought to myself. No sooner than I had  
thought that thought, the thought had thought itself away.

All of a sudden, I was no longer in my warm, comfortable apartment. I was in the  
field. I lay sprawled on the floor, my eyes peering drunkenly in front of me. I  
was in classic hidden ground assault and my mission as I had chosen to accept it was  
to make my way around the big thing on my left to get to the Holy Chicken. I scanned  
the terrain in front of me and around me.

Directly in front of me were two high heels, positioned in a way that if I were to  
fall on top of them, I'd stab myself in the heart. On my left was a large object which  
these people called a coffee table. On my right was, of course, the couch. I began  
to plan my course of action.

"Righ', Commanding Angel Scuh here. Hello hand". I was speaking walkie-talkie  
style into my hand. My eyes still peered droopily around the room. "I ith gonna  
move in. Gonna take direct 'pproaching".

And then I began my crawl. It was slow and painstaking process towards the Devil's  
shoes. Once I had reached them, I tried to swat them away. Funnily enough, I kept  
missing them.

"Goh-tah be careful, Commandinginginging. Points ouch!"

Finally, after repeated attempts, I whacked the offending Devil's Shoes away. I  
cheered. Then I was back to my crawl. I grabbed the end of the couch as if I were  
grabbing onto a ledge. Swinging my right arm downwards, I acted as if suspended  
from the top of a mountain. I dropped my gaze downwards and stared at the far  
wall. Seeing the distance, I frantically swung my arm up to reach the couch. I  
missed the first time but latched onto it the second time. I pulled myself upwards  
and thankfully over my "mountain" ledge.

I sighed with relief. I managed to prop myself up against the side of the couch.  
My head swayed from side to side. I glanced around me. I was in my apartment.

"How did I get here?" I questioned myself aloud. Shrugging, I attempted to stand  
up. It was impossible considering that my body was a complete dead weight. After  
a moment, I gave up. I don't know why I gave up but I did. I allowed my body to  
slide sideways until I thumped heavily onto the ground.

The last thing I saw before I fell into a deep slumber was a blurry object.

I opened one very slowly and was greeted with a pointed thing. Through one eye,  
I could somewhat distinguish my heel. What was it doing on my bed, I asked myself  
as I opened the other eye. There was a distant ringing in the background. Initially  
I thought it was the phone but then realised that my ears were ringing. I rolled to  
the left and was greeted by a hard object.

My sleepy eyes jerked open suddenly as I began to question what was hard and  
against my back. My first thought was Mulder. But then I rationilised that Mulder  
wasn't as hard as the thing behind me. Mulder was more squishy and warm. The thing  
behind me was rock hard. My filthy mind swept a nasty little thought about what of  
Mulder's could be rock hard. I shook the thought a way.

My eyes began to adjust and I realised suddenly that I was lying at the edge of my  
couch and on the floor. I ran over every possible answer as to why I was there. Sadly,  
in my hung over state, I couldn't work it out.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNG

"What the fuck is that?" I said, although it sounded like "Wha fahhh tha?" My mouth  
felt like it was filled with cotton wool. I struggled into a sitting position and my  
stomach lurched. I felt the bile rising in my throat and after a moment, I pulled  
myself off the floor, using the couch as support.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNG

There was that blasted noise again. Seeing something green flash on off to my left,  
I realised it was my phone. I was still in the middle of a war between my stomach and  
my throat. I hobbled towards the phone, arms wrapped around my stomach.

"Hmph", I grunted into the phone.

"Morning Scully! How's things? I didn't wake you did I? Oh, sorry about last  
night!"

I had pulled my phone away from my ear as soon as I heard "Morning ..." His voice  
was too loud. Even at the distance from the phone and my ear, I could clearly hear  
him. I was about to answer him when I felt the bile swimming in my mouth. Dropping  
the phone, I made a bolt to the bathroom. Just before I got there I tripped over  
something. I fell flat on my face. Fighting the pain that had just formulated around  
my nose, I pushed myself up and continued running to the bathroom. I threw myself at  
the toilet and brought up lots of ... "stuff".

After a while, the "stuff" stopped coming out of my mouth and gradually my heaves  
became grunts. I wiped my face off with some toilet paper and reached up and flushed  
the toilet. I was exhausted. It takes a lot of you when you throw up, especially  
when you're tiny like me. I rested back against the cold wall of my bathroom and  
shut my eyes.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!

My eyes jolted open with a start. I heard my name being called. I worked out it  
was Mulder soon enough. Not having the energy to call back, I began to pull myself  
towards the door. I could hear him frantically muttering to himself in the lounge room  
and make his way to the bedroom. I was crawling commando style across my bathroom floor.  
I was hit with a sudden wave of deja vu. I finally got to the door and with one big  
heave, I pulled my head past the doorway and looked out into my lounge room.

The first thing I noticed was that I could see into the hallway outside my apartment.  
The second thing I noticed was the door, which was lying on the floor, hinges swinging.  
The third thing I noticed was bottle lying on the floor next to the couch. I closed  
my eyes and a few seconds I re-opened them. The fourth thing I noticed were a pair of  
black boots directly in my face. I rolled onto my back and looked into the amused eyes  
of my partner.

"Need a hand there, Scully?"

I knew I should have yelled at him about the door. I knew I should have yelled at  
myself for the bottle. I knew I should have gotten to the toilet before I threw up on  
Mulder's shoes.

I heard him gasp as his shiny black boots were suddenly transformed into a work of art.  
I tried to apologise but Mr. Stomach-doesn't-want-to-settle-down decided to play again.  
Mulder didn't even move. I think he was a little shocked. Or maybe a lot shocked. His  
lovely shiny shoes were a lovely pink color with other bits and pieces here and there.

Then I saw it. It was sitting there on Mulder's new pink shoes. I stared at intently,  
to make sure that it really was what it looked like. Then I knew that it was what it was  
and I let out a yell, which probably frightened Mulder to half to death.

"I FOUND YOU CHICKEN!"


End file.
